The People's History of Ephia's Well

[Don Nadie]

[Don Nadie]

[Don Nadie]

The Author

Alejandro Benjázar: the one who writes this most objective of accounts, and at times participates in the events described therein. A scholar of the Competition, a poet, a storyteller, a dwarf-friend, a member of the League of White. At different times: a Balladeer, a Magistrate, a Prelate and an Acting Legate. Forevermore: a fool and your humble servant, oh Reader.

Of the League of White

Domhnall Guivarch: a Legate, an Asterabadian, a mess.

Ricario Castella: a Legate, a merchant, a traitor.

Akna Ymir: a Legate; once, of the Tribe of the Bear.

Jamileh Attar: a renowned scholar and founder of the Competition, a Professor, a Magistrate in Mechanicum, a collector of titles, the mentor of your beloved author. 

Odamus Squeev: a Magistrate, a candidate, a drug-peddler, a man of the People.

Of the League of Gold

John Syter: a Legate, a self-made man, a source of cheer, a victim of murder.

Sol Auk: a Legate, a crimelord, a slaver, a piece of shit.

Mari Blacke: a Magistrate, a priestess of the Sabotage, a candidate, a victim of judicial murder.

Qari: a one-term Legate; something else, too, I'm sure...

Skaldorr Merizad: a merchant, a patriarch, a brooker, a Lion's dinner.

Gers Geiger: a leader of the Alchemist's Guild, a mad wizard, a murder victim.

Frtiz von Volkrin: a young member of the oldest profession, a brooker.

Of the League of Purple

Zarat: a Legate, a scholar, a dissapearance.

Naelin Karstwen: a captain of the Torchbearers, a map-maker, an explorer, a decent translator.

Sephidra Niridhe: a treasurer of the Torchbearers, an explorer, a candidate.

Isabella DeVeend: a wife, a politician, a petty brooker; once, of the Whites.

Atreous Loukanis: a champion of the Games, a murderer.

Zaniah: a Legate, a Gamemistress, a tragic loss.

Marcellus Saenus: a Legate, a scholar of the Competition, a leader, the elderly.

Gausim al-Marain: a Legate, a Waterbearer.

Aaisha al-Samar: a Deputy Chief Scribe, a banker, a counsellor.

Bashir Khatara: a Scribe, a fashion-icon, an author, a local treasure.

Of the Unaligned

Snorri, Shield of Ephia: a Torchbearer, a friend, a hero.

Baracknar Boneprick: a valiant dwarf, a violent fighter, a survivor of Kulkund, a loss to Lucca Ferra.

Syl Halavant: A Torchbearer, a wizardress, a self-professed "Psychic Mage", an endless source of get-rich-quick schemes.

Kypros Kadys: an oathsworn, a Roadwarden, a lepper, a political radical, a traitor; once, of the White League; once, of the Gold League.

Shahlil Shadowbrook: a Twindari, an assassin.

Alfred Delafosse: a cook, a brooker, a coward; once, of the Balladeers.

Sparrow: a scholar, a seeker of Truth, too small a person for all the angst she'd come to feel; once, of the Balladeers; once, your Author's bright apprentice.

Of the Tower of Q'tolip

Estellise Azimi: an Apothar, a doll-collector, Mhg.

Vergal Medista: an Apothar, a violent wizard, a murderer, a murder-victim.

Cosine Mevura: an Apothar, a vanquisher of djinni, a hero, a liar.

Mae Stern: an Apothar, a mechanist, a mass-murderer, a coward.

Owain: a monkey, a saviour, a sniper, a political activist for monkey-rights, a tyrant.

Alexander Bestworth V: a Nadiri, a murderer, Owain's familiar.

Lucian Naile: a Nadiri, a bit of a wallflower, to be honest, but nice.

Of the Sultan's Legion

Rennick Colmes: a Lieutenant, a detective, a Syter Sly, Sol Auk's crony.

Leander Niftkil: a Soldier, a throater, an assassin. 

Of the College of Balladeers

Lynneth Llywarch: a Lyrist, a priestess of Warad, a paramour to endless women.

Aubrey Domergue: a Balladeer, a politician, a Syter Sly, a Drunk.

Velan Volantis: a Balladeer; the man, the legend, the idiot.

Of the Priory of the Sibylline Wine

Sister Amelie: a Sister, a Kulamende, a poet, a icon of defiance against the Courts of the Djinn.

Sister Hypatia: a Sister, a weaver, a charity-worker; once, a reporter.

Sister Selsi: a Sister, a mindmage, an intriguer, a healer.

Sister Nebtu: a Sister.

Narwen Alendiel: an Acolyte, a singer, a painter, an artist, an Ambassador of the Gift; once, of the Balladeers.

Leiah Avrayana: an Acolyte, a scholar of the Competition, a winner of Syter's Raffle.

Of the Banda Rossa

Kythaella Reithel: a Ballestriere, an axe-master; once, of the Torchbearers.

Kragg Stonefury: a Ballestriere; a dwarf, and a rather stinky one at that.

Bruno Oarback: a Ballestriere, a sea-less pirate, a "journalist".

Of the World Beyond Our Walls

Constantine Diakos: a former Legate, an Orentid, a traitor, a rider, a General of the Sibilant Hosts.

Itaja Sijapuros: a Bashmu-kar, a terrorist, a threat, a drowned man.

The Gutter Banshee: a Gutter Banshee.

The Tonsured: a Mystery.

[Don Nadie]

Dramatis Personae

Estellise Azimi: in a private meeting, Apothar Estellise objected to her apprentice, Cosine Mevura, being called a "hero". She proceeded to give numerous examples of his cowardice, including his refusal to enter the Crucible of the Djinni Prince or something called "The Murder Door". While the Author understands, he also considers that the act of bravery he has witnessed, to an extent, makes up for former lacks of heroism, and as such the term shall, for the time being, remain. She also gave examples of Mae Stern's cowardice, as a freeby. 

Act I: Syter & Zarat

Apothar Mae Stern: taking to the Bellows as soon as Act I was announced and refusing further engagement, the Apothar complained about being called a coward, a point which shall be proven later in this History. Then, she launched herself into a series of attacks ad hominem which show, if anything, the falsehood of her claims, her many personal issues and the fact she hadn't even read the chapter. Jarring, specially considering she decided not to be interviewed.

The Author graciously forgives her, and thanks her for giving him the idea of this section of the book.

[Don Nadie]

The Many Sights of the Early Days

Oh, reader, what shall I tell you of the first days of my History in the Well? Should I speak of the wonders of the Souk, which glistened before all of our eyes? Of the strangeness of the Aspects, so unfamiliar to refugees from distant territories and the cause of much conversation and controversy? Of the greatness of the ancient Orentid structures, diminished though they may have been, yet still more magnificent than anything your good Author had seen in his whole life? Of the dangers of unfamiliar boardwork? Of secrets found? Of lovers lost? Of enemies faced? Of silly little things and joys, discovered in the midst of horror?

Your author remains uncertain, and so he shall begin by asking someone else: the ex-Legate Marcellus Saenus. One may question his judgement and disagree politically, but he is, no doubt, a man with experience.

Djinnis and Brookers

What Marcellus Saenus remembers most vividly, from those early days, were the encounters with the djinni. "Back then", he declares, "they were forebonding... But not inmediately malicious".

Indeed, travellers would often be haunted by strange apparitions who asked for help, or names, or guidance to the Well, and it was those encounters which taught us the importance of telling strangers to "Live and drink". A friend of yours truly, a handsome idiot by the name of Justin Rosedew, invited just one such a traveller to the Well in exchange for a beautiful suit. His foolish choice saw the spread of strange darkness throughout our city and, eventually, his cursed transformation and tragic death, in the bloom of his beauty. He was the first friend your dedicated Author lost in this new home... And taught him that, even in such an oasis, we were bound to know loss and mourning.

Tempted by the promise of power, there were those who sought more than mere invitation, and dared brook with the Foul Courts beyond our Disc. Thus it came to be that on 28th of Iyar, Skaldorr Merizad was captured. The leader of a dwarven family whose mercantile endeavour had brought him much success amidst the Gold, Skaldorr's darker exploits were discovered by Cosine Mevura, of the Astronomers. The trial, much-publicized and presided over by none other than John Syter, was also the first time many refugees saw the punishment of the Voiced: death in the cruel maws of Orentes's Lions.

The Making of a Living

Not all was, of course, otherworldly threats and grave danger. In fact, if anything, most were concerned with their day-to-day survival. Refugees would run arround day and night, hussling for a few coin through means legal or otherwise. The Gutter Banshee, for instance, made a name for herself by screamingly robbing poor wormingers until captured, while yours truly earned his Voice writing jingles for politicians, merchants, patrons, and glory-hounds... A side-hussle which still, blessedly, goes a long way towards paying rent. Merchants took turns in a brimming Souk with never enough stalls, companies were formed and new institutions, created. Oligarchs such as the Water-merchant Sol Auk, the potion-brewer Ophelia Whitmore, or the hedonist Lucius made entire fortunes off of adventurers trying to survive. And it was absolutely impossible to have a conversation in the Krak, so full it was of hussle and bustle.

It was these early days, for instance, that saw the founding of Naelin Carsten's Torchbearers, explorers of great renown who continue opening paths to this very day. Gers Geiger established his Alchemists's Guild, dedicated to craftsmanship and discovery, which would provide endless novelty until his muddled assassination. The Competition, founded by Professor Jamileh Attar, delved into the mysteries of the past and served as the creche of celebrated scholars like this humble Author. Khalid al-Hayim of Warad, Mari Blacke of the Sabotage and a few other priests founded the Wheel of Ephia, which to this day serves as a forum for the servants of the Gods. Other institutions, such as Shane Gallow's newspaper, would prove more short-lived, not outlasting their scandalous founder. He left behind his bereft and seductively-attired reporter, Estellise Azimi. According to rumor, the (now likely in hiding from the Law) Apothar paid a fortune to secure Gallow's bed from a burly Stonefolk, so that she could lay in it languidly whilst eating an excessive amount of chocolates.

Of course, many of these citizen-led initiatives became slightly less common once the members of the Accord began accepting new recruits. Over time and trials, such as the famed Tower Debate, the Banda Rossan attack on the Nusrum (which apparently involved excessive use of fireballs) or the Storytelling night with Grandmaster d'Avergne, new members began entering the Accord. Sister Hypatia, for example, remembers fondly becoming the first new Acolyte. "I was where I needed to be. Where I truly needed to be". Like her, many would take to their fresh positions with passion and dedication, and find much meaning in their newfound duties. Many remember, for instance, the eagerness with which the then Student Lyneth Llywarch took to exemplifying the virtues of the knight-poet for the College of Balladeers... And the coterie of female admirers she gathered in the process. Others were a bit less eager, with Cosine Mevura, for instance, wholeheartedly refusing to wield his broom and learn, from it, the lesson of humility.

While the Accord absorved much of the overflowing energies of new Refugees, there were plenty of tensions in the process. As a newly-minted Recluta, for instance, Kythaella was thoroughly insulted by one of the Ballestrieres's distaste for those of elven blood, a feeling in which he was not alone. Estellise's lording of her senior status over Cosine Mevura, similarly, was a source of many dramatics and hystrionics, amusing to watch from afar. And what can one say of Velan Volandis, who established as recruitment requisite that aspiring Students of the College of Balladeers create some artpiece praising him, and none other? 

Ultimately, however, someone would always prove the winner of such feuds: the profiteers. I myself made a few dinari off of jingles humbling both of the now-Apothars, while Syl Halavant, self-declared Psychic Mage, offered "Elf Passes". For a mere 100 dinari, these allowed the wielder to add, after an insulting comment about the race, that they "have an elven friend", a sureway to sidestep any criticism.

Truly, the Well was (and is) a place which rewards Inventive.

The Politics of Our City

And what did we wish this money for? Why, after all, did we endeavoured so diligently to gather dinari upon dinari? I'm sure there were as many reasons as individuals, but I suspect that, at the core, many of the new refugees had one unifying aspiration: a Voice.

See, Ephia's Well is a grand experiment, the first attempt at Asterabadian democracy. Flawed as it is by the subordination to the Sultan, the cursed influence of oligarchs, the deliverate underdevelopment of its economy, and the infinite compromises of the Accord, it remains (sadly) the most democratic city in the Great Ash Desert. To many, particularly the refugees of the Old City, it offered an incredible contraste. Acolyte Ianthe, for instance, remembers vividly a debate amidst representatives of the Leagues, which took place in the Palm Height's gardens. "I couldn't believe people were allowed to speak so freely, on such matters", she explained, with a fond smile. Gods, kings, economics, forms of governance: all had the ability to form an opinion on topics elsewhere forbidden and, with a Voice, they could push to make it real. Of course, the price of a Voice was even higher than nowadays, its current cost one of the many things we must thank the League of White for. Thus, they were an exceedingly popular prize for events, political or otherwise.

Slowly, the new refugees began to make their way into the different Leagues, in those historical days which would come to shape them..

The League of Gold had the endless enthusiasm provided by Legate John Syter, whose Voice-raffles, furniture-discounts, cheerful announcements and general disposition made him such a beloved figure, despite his support for outdated and unjust oligarchic practices of capital-accumulation. That his closest associate, Sol Auk, would turn out to be a corrupt and heinous Legate should, perhaps, make us consider the contrast between his public persona and the politics he supported. Still, not even his harshest critics, those who remember all the people Syter left behind, stabbed, or cheated on the road from rags to riches, can deny he was a delight to be arround. One of his most famous events saw the raffle of a Voice, won by the soon-to-be Acolyte Leiah Avrayana.

The League of Purple was, curiously, the least popular at the time. Partly, perhaps, because their sitting Legate, Zarat, was a woman of quiet scholarship, and I remember fewer events dedicated to their causes. I can only assume things were happening underneath the surface, as Zarat often met with Archaeologists of renown such as Jamileh Attar, offering them fascinating insights and requesting, in return, to be made aware of their findings. Considering what would come to pass, it is likely she had found some dark secret, herself...

The Lillies, finally, were as active and rambunctious then as they are now. Already, they were torn between radicals, moderates, and blatant opportunists who will happily sell the People for a pinch of dinari, while feigning kindness and good intent. I remember vividly that, while agreeing with its principles, I hesitated to join in my first month due to the many representatives of this last group, such as Aubrey Domergue. "Hand that gives disguises hand that stabs", explained to me a sagely Stonefolk, who had watched the now washed-off Balladeer take a bribe to change her tune. And no opportunist was more hideous than the one we trusted as candidate: Constantine Diakos, the Snake.

The "Kidnapping" of Constantine Diakos

Of course, back then, we were unaware of his hideous intrigue. Other threats, beyond the Wall, captured our attention. Over the weeks rumors began: threatening Bellows, whispers of occult rituals. And a name which rang, paired with curses... Itaja Sijapuros.

Those who saw Itaja in his first days in the city would've taken him for just one more faithful of some martial Spoke, dedicated to minor adventuring and boardwork. He spent his time in the Creep, where he preached of revolution, of those who felt crushed and downtrodden. Orentids, rebels and addicts flocked to his side. Soon, however, the darkness of his wicked soul was laid bare when he committed murder and fled, with some of his ilk, the city. From exile, he planned and planned, leaving behind but the hideous mannuscript of the Enchiridion, copies of which can still be found in disreputable bookshops. He became the most visible, but not only, head of the Wyrmists who threatened our way of life. Slowly, the threats coalesced, rumors spread of a new warlord who had managed to join the disparate Sibilant tribes, of Ashstorms summoned by the Bashmu-kar.

There's some irony to the fact that the first act of Wyrmist terrorism many of recent arrivals knew was the "kidnapping" of Constantine Diakos. By the Ides of Iyar, Constantine Diakos, Candidate of the White League, had been missing for several weeks. An emergency Assembly on Iyar 18th saw accusations flunged (some, against the sitting Legates) and a bounty raised: whomever found him would get a Voice. Thus, on the 22nd, a group of White League loyalists marched into the desert. What truly transpired, not even your resourceful Author can tell. The only people involved who still live are the betrayer himself, who shan't respond, and Aubrey Domergue, who no human force can raise from her cups. Hours later, however, the ragtag band returned victorious, a wounded Diakos, arm on a sling, amidst them.

It was a strage thing to watch, according to the Waradim Khalid al-Hayim. "They arrived joyous", he describes, "but much burdened secrecy". The most prevalent rumor was that Diakos was sent to negociate for grain, and then was captured by a band of sibilant and madmen. According to this story, he had been tortured and wounded, his arm the most evident sign of the challenges endured. But there was darkness, rumors, uncertainty... So much so that Legate Syter established over the next Assembly the Syter's Slys, a duo of incompetence formed by Aubrey Domergue and Rennik Colmes. The two investigators would be but another group played by a conspiracy much greater and darker than we thought.

We were happy, to an extent. Innocent and relaxed, thinking our candidate was back to us. Diakos seemed normal and as dedicated to the People as ever when, on Hziran 12th, the Palette Games were celebrated, with even the Princesses in attendance. These ended in a tie between the Purple champion, Atreus Loukanis, who would become an assassin and be fed to the Lions, and the Gold one, Mariett Fineweather, who would vanish into insignificance after some scandalous matters with drugs. Perhaps we should've taken them both as an ill omen.

For, after the Palette Games... Clouds gathered.

The Great Ash Storm of Hziran IY 7787

On the first week of Hziran, we became aware of a danger in the horizon. Astronomical calculations, Baz'eelian weatherwanes and the bones of an old man at the Souk all indicated with equal reliability the arrival of a new threat: the biggest Ash Storm the City had ever seen. Preparations were made, with brave caravaneers and scholarly Astronomers setting overvation pylons to meassure the Storm and, hence, adjust Nasaru. Commonly known as the Shade, this artifact of Colossi origin found by the Sage Q'tolip had been the Well's only protection from the Ash Storms since the Ringfall, but... Would it endure?

On the 26th of Hziran, the Storm came and we retreated back to our shelter, as scorching Ash lashed against our protection. We held our breath for an hour or so, and all seemed safe, but then... There was a horrid sound!, a lashing of the winds!, a weakening of our aegis! It soon emerged that a pylon had been sabotaged by someone from within the city. As Nadiris and Apothars struggled, it was the monkey Owain, the master of one of the Tower's Nadiris, who saved the day and repaired the pylon. An Assembly was called for inmediately, to examine the main suspect of this Sabotage: Kypros, the White - so named for his once shining cloak.

It was the strangest Assembly your humble Author ever witnessed, and he's been present during some of Domhnall Guivarch's most memorable drug-fuelled tirades. Zarat seemed entirely off, looking at her hands and scratching herself, her gaze distante and unfocused. Syter, in turn, seemed fidgety and nervous. Perhaps Kypros could've been unmasked there and then, but all descended into chaos when the incompetent Syter Slys suddenly produced a letter, supposedly stolen from Syter's own office. It indicated his satisfaction with the capture of Diakos and an alliance between the Gold Legate and the Bashmu-kar. Of course, better detectives would've stoped to, say, compare the handwriting before raising the matter... But these were not better detectives.

As they were proven wrong, the Slys decided to double down on their claims. The screams and accusations escalated to the point that blades were unsheathed in the Assembly Hall, as close to Coup as we've ever been. In the chaos, the Assembly was dispersed and Kypros managed to leave free of charges. One may wonder, truly, what ils could our city have been spared, were it not for the idiocy of the Balladeer and the Sergeant.

Instead, we had a dripping of terrible news throughout the night. First, a secret meeting concluded with terrified Scribes discovering two bodies: an unconscious Diakos, wounded by a poisoned dagger, and the dead  Legate of the Gold. As the corpse of John Syter was taken by the Twindari for his last rites, Diakos was sent to the attentions of the B'aarat. Then, Zarat was nowhere to be found. Jannisaries, Scribes and even the Consulate were unable to locate her, though it eventually transpired she had made her way to the Depths beneath the Well.

It was a tense evening, a tense day. Jannisaries and the Rose sharpened their blades, Bashmu-kar conspired in dark corners, Crypto-Orentids grumbled their discontent with cups of dark coffee... And all through, the Ashstorm rushed against the barely-standing Shade. The Well was a powderkeg: all it'd take was a spark.

Still, even in these horrid circumstances, life went on. Caravaneers performed swift trips onto contractwork, or braved the mountains of the Ayyabas in hopes the Storm would reveal unseen secrets. Perhaps most notably, an expendition pushed through the lashing Ash to reach mount Kulkund. Organized by the Order of Archaz, and including a few allies of dwarfkin, this brave band pushed through hordes of Deep Dwarves and Orcan clans to seek the ancient histories of their people. Of all that dared the battle, only three remained: the rage-fighter Boneprick, the shield-bearer Snorri and your beloved Author. Since the Tale of this valiant sacrifice is told elsewhere, suffice to say that the survivors arrived exhausted, blood-covered, ash-lashed... And carrying between them the bodies of five of their companions. Amongst the Leiah Avrayana, once winner of the Syter raffle, once archaeologist of the Competition, once Acolyte of the Sybilline Sisterhood... And, forever, remembered for her bravery.

It felt so horridly fitting, for the first woman to have a Voice amidst this new wave of refugees to die that night...

Back in the Well, we would find no peace, and get no time for mourning of fallen friends. No sooner had we left the bodies to be washed and prepared for burial when Marcellus Saenus, then a Scribe, rang the alarm. Those who rushed to the Chamber of the Assembly discovered Itaja's band of Bashmu-kar, including the fallen oathsworn Kypros. They saw, too the Steele, and upon the Steele, shimmering with sickly red hue, the cursed name of the Wyrm. I remember that there was a heaviness in the air, a sense of oppression brought not only by the ever-pressing Storm. There was a thickness to every breath, a stink of poison, the distant sense of hisses: a curse had fallen upon us.

Itaja and his followers would be drowned in the Well, but it felt like an empty gesture, a vague symbol of Justice in the threshold of our destruction. The hiss kept growing as we rushed to the Plaza, as from the gutters emerged the chanting, hideously disfigured Melek. This Author, dear reather, takes no small pride in rarely, if ever, unsheathing his blade within the Well. That night, however, all weapons sang as we battled the Sibilant forces in the plaza, in the Pyramid, in every single street and corner. Blood stained the cobblestones, snakes emerged from every crack, meleks kept on coming and coming and then, in the midsts of our battle: his voice. Diakos. The confession of his vileness.

Imagine this, oh reader. Imagine us all, bereft. Imagine the corpses of melek on our streets, the name of the Wyrm raised in prayer at the very heart of our citadel. Imagine the storm raging against the Shade. Imagine the Bellows of a once beloved Legate, now traitor. Imagine all of it and you'll understand why it felt, to so many, like a miracle. Why, that very night, the Purple League's membership doubled.

For it was there, dear reader, parting the clouds.

Revealing the Celestial Disc. Brightening our battle-worn expressions.

Floating, untouched and unbothered, the outlines of its gardens and fountains like a promise of Bel-Ishun. 

I know it is now a common sight, a everyday thing, an usual outline above our city. But, that night? Bringing along the promise of safety, the words of Osman VI? Bringing Geomancers to disperse the Great Ash Storm, Waterbearers and Holy Fools set to purify our holy places and waylay our curse? Looking peaceful and serene, and clearing a sky which had felt like our grave? Offering us its protection? Its respite, in this mayhem?

Imagine what it was, oh reader: the arrival of the Sublime Terrace and the end of the night's horrors... And with their end, the end of the this first Act.

(Act I has been written with the generous help of: Naelin Carsten, Sephidra Nidhiri, Ianthe Kalkathos, Sister Hypatia, Marcellus Saenus, Khalid al-Ayim. Apothar Cosine Mevura and Apothar Mae Stern didn't respond to requests for comment and interview. Other living witnesses of this time were either unavailible, unknown, or too drunk to be interviewed.)

(An ammendment has been made after studying the dress Estellise Azimi wore while she was a reporter. While form-fitting, it is fair to say she was not scantly-clad. As such, the adjective has been changed, much as the Author lamments the loss of such a great and rarely used in historical studies descriptor as "scantly-clad")

[Don Nadie]

Rebuilding Ourselves

Dawn came, perhaps to the surprise of the many Well-dwellers who had thought our home would be crushed between the Sibilant and the Storm. Exhausted, worn and blood-covered, we still found the resilience and creativity to rebuild. The inmediate aftermath was thus both a time of slow collaboration and one of strange, rabid changes. Truly, both the ominous and the ridiculous took place, under our weary eyes.

It was during this time that the Astronomers of Q'tolip, with Vergal Medista as their spokesman, first announced their desire control the research of independent scholars and threatened, if refused, to remove the Shade. It was also during this time that Owain, the monkey who saved our Well repairing the Shade, first raised his demand for a Voice, sparking a debate which continues, on and off, to this day. Voices were bought, businesses made, threats whispered in dark corners, Gers Geiger claimed to have created life (not for sale), and preparations were laid out. All while Waterbearers endeavoured in their ministrations, to cleanse the Wyrm's name from our much-battered citadel.

Finally, on the very last day of Hziran, Princess Shaimela presided over the burial of John Syter. Inmediately after he was given to the Martyr's embrace, with the echoes of "Live and drink" still ringing in the Well, she announced the coming elections. Eargely, candidates flocked to their Leagues to fill their papers and start gathering signatures. For many, your dear Author included, this would be their first experience in democracy. It would be, alas, bittersweet.

The Primaries of Tammuz IY 7787

The Primaries would be a rather contentious affair from the beginning. The large influx of recent refugees meant that there were a variety of ideals on display, and all the Leagues were in such upheaval there was much space for reinvention.

The Gold League was, perhaps, the least contentious... Though only because it was still reeling from the loss of their most popular leaders. Not only had John Syter been killed, but Ophelia Whitmore, a beloved merchant who had been preparing to run for her League, was murdered by Atreus Loukanis, Purple champion of the Palette Games. While him and his mageling had been inmediately discovered and thrown to the Lions, this gave an opening to a local Magistrate and Watermerchant by the name of Sol Auk. The Stonefolk was known for his endless speeches and rhetorical tricks, but was, back then, still trusted by many. Of course, darker rumors claimed he was the one who set up Ophelia's death and that he had used the Magisterial seat for endless corruption... But, despite this, he managed to bribe or drive away his only competition soon enough.

Meanwhile, in the League of Purple, the Primaries saw the struggle between the Torchbearer Sephidra, the once-White Isabella Fitzgerald and the Syter Sly of famous handwriting-related fumble, Rennik Colmes. According to the elven candidate, "They were pressuring me to adopt 'defense' into my portfolio... When they both folded". Each took it differently, however: while the merchant Isabella decided to style herself as a political advisor, Colmes would go on to support the candidate of the White League and, some say, try to derail Sephidra's political campaign.

Lastly, the White Leagues was a tad battered, due to the association with Diakos. While your humble Author joined precisely then, realizing that the alternative was leaving it for vile people to control, many more had abandoned it to join the Purple or the Gold. Despite this, there was an active primary in which the main two contenders were Aubrey Domergue, of Syter Sly infamy, and Lynneth Lliwarch. After long and no doubt bitter debates, Aubrey agreed to step down. This was, of course, a wise choice: as would be proven by later elections, Domergue was not able to garner much popular support, despite her own self-regard. In contrast, Lynneth's cadre of female admirers (for a complete diagram of her many paramours and its internal tensions, please refer to the "Lynneth Saphic Relationship Chart", in the Apendix) formed a not inconsiderable voting block, to which one had to add the myriad who saw her a reliable ally, trustworthy merchant, or faithful Waradim.

If the primaries were full of Bellows, rumor and misdirection, the actual election would be even more dramatic...

Elections, Resignations and the Butt Trial

Oddities opened when Rennik Colmes, decided to prosecute the beloved Gamemisstress, Zaniah Almirah. The charge? Treason!

You see, dear reader, one of her Games had included an anonymous riddle whose solution was Our Sublime Monarch's very own buttocks... And since the riddles had been submitted anonymously, she couldn't share its author, a Butt Bandit who remains at large and up to heinous and Treasonous crimes to this day, no doubt. It never became quite clear whether Sol Auk had bribed the Sergeant to bring it to trial (Zaniah being something of a rival of his), or whether Rennik had bribed Sol Auk to rule in his favor.

Regardless, the trial was not only widely mocked, but also made many more people know the riddle (now preserved for posterity as a historical artifact in Court Records, see the Apendix). For instance, local hero and extremely good-looking idiot, Velan Volandis, took to the Bellows and the streets to speak of His Majesty's (presumably) noble derriere.

The ridicule of the situation was such that Princess Hasheema had to descend from the Sublime Terrace to declare a misstrial, artfully dodging whether it could or not be considered Treason to speculate on her father's behind by focusing on the importance of Piety. What the Butt Trial showed (besides Rennik Colme's weird priorities vis a vis the prosecution of crime) was Sol Auk's magistral ability to both court and dodge scandal: though central to the whole trial, which he refused to dismiss himself, he was able to make speeches claiming it Hasheema had heeded his wisdom. Your beloved author wrote a little rhyme about the events, which you may find elsewhere. This Butt Trial would be a first taste of his Prelateship: absurd chaos and corruption, followed by rhetorical walkback and reframing.

As people were still whispering confusedly about the Butt Trial, another surprise hit us: Sephidra Niridhe, despite having won the Primary by a not inconsiderable margin, claimed to have come up with a bout of illness and stepped down as candidate. Of course, everyone knew this was, as the kids say, poppycock. There had been whispers of the Banafsian ambassador chatting with Sol Auk, who then returned with a large donation and a lot of Banafsian seafood for one of his events. Banafsi wanting Sephidra over some matter in one of their isles, it was widely assumed that the Torchbearer had stepped down due to poisoning, threats, or both. Some rumors point towards a meeting with both Sol Auk and Colmes, the duo known for setting up many a electoral scheme, but the specifics have never been proven... And the surviving witnesses have remained, alas, tight-lipped and inmune to your Author's charms.

In her stead, Cyrille Monteglass stepped up as candidate of the Purple League. Once of the White, Cyrille was a failed advocate with as much charm and subtlety as an Deep-Kulkundian courting-song (that is to say: no charm or subtlety at all). While he made some fuss about his "one chicken in every pot" campaign, which presumably involved hiring Gers Geiger for his chicken-making skills, nobody seriously considered he could win. This, in turn, made initial supporters of the Purple look elsewhere, for who would vote for a candidate bound to lose? Thus, as would happen many more times, the campaign became de facto a two-candidate affair: Lynneth versus Sol Auk.

Initially, it would seem Lynneth was posed to win... She was, however, a Ballader. This meant there was concern, in some corners, both about her Drinking and about the influence of the Rose. While historically there had been Legates of the Accord (specifically, one Astronomer), the Rose was an entity with much more far-reaching political aspirations that the Tower. Furthermore, many (the infamous owner of the tabloid "Mermaid's Tale", Bruno Oarback most notably) pointed that she lacked a clear policy, and was running mostly on the grounds of being "trustworthy", "nice", and "good with the ladies", rather than actual ideas. Nonetheless, she garnered the support of quite a wide coalition, including an endorsement by Rennik Colmes... At least until his Lieutenants pulled him by the ear!

Sol Auk began in something of a disadvantage, which he'd work hard to resolve. While most of the Purple had flocked to Lynneth in the aftermath of Sephidra's resignation, he had loyalists, most notably the Priestess of the Sabotage, Mari Blacke. Over the last days of the campaign, Sol Auk and his advisors would perform an endless series of political maneuvers, such as bringing in the Alchemist's Guild and the Banda Rossa by promising them different privileges.

In the end, however, it was simple election-rigging that got Sol Auk the win: the Gold League spent a fortune buying Voices for their supporters, between eight and fifteen, which were enough to secure a slim majority. Thus, we were set for a month of barely restrained control by the Stonefolk, who has the dubious honor of being the Well's most corrupt Legate in living memory.

The Early Legateship of Sol Auk

When asked about Sol Auk's Legateship, local swordsman of the Gold League, Hazezon Mraize described it as: "Sol Auk's gradual descend from the heir of Syter, to selling drugs in the Creep, to trying to create a Brothel". The description is apt, dear reader, though one might perhaps argue that this gradual descend was not one of character, but reputation, as the citizens of the Well slowly realized who had the reins of their city.

His first scandal in office was the blessing of the Steele. Though he made a great fuss about inviting the Priesthood of the Wheel, in the end it was the Sabotage whose name was set. This came as a surprise only to idiots and the terminally uninformed: Mari Blacke had been a close advisor and one of the main financieers behind the Gold vote-buying.

Of course, this caused an endless deluge of complaints. The Priestess defended the position that, with so many enemies circling our fair City, her diety would ward us from ill luck while sending misfortune upon our foes. Others argued that They were the deity of anarchy and decadence, and thus entirely unsuited as a guardian for our settlement. It must be noted that those who cursed Them were particularly prone to accidents and ill fortune, while those smart enough to tithe saw no additional trouble, Their languid gaze directed elsewhere. The Steele also behaved most odly during this period: laws came to be miss-written on the Steele and Scribes found documents missing, or appearing out of nowhere. This minor crisis ended when the Waradim Lynneth marched onto the Pyramid with a bag of dinari and bribed Sol Auk to set Warad's name on the Steele. During the rest of his tenure, the Spokes would continue to change as soon as someone new came with enough coin.

From this scandalous start, Sol Auk continued pushing the limits of Legatorial Inmunity. He gave official posts to anyone and everyone, often in exchange of bribes, so that their successes could become his own and their failures, theirs. Thus was Gers Geiger named Minister of Trade and Marcellus's library declared the Whitmore Memorial Library, for instance. Sol Auk, of course, provided no coin for any of these, and in fact managed to pocket much. Being the only sitting Legate, never challenged by his League or the likely bribed Sergeant Rennik Colmes, he exploited his position to the detriment of our fair city.

Perhaps the biggest scandal was what would come on 28th of Tammuz or, as Acolyte Narwen puts it, "the night where he made crime legal". You see, dear reader, Sol Auk declared that the Voiced would not be charged for minor crimes. Ballestriere Kithaella, never one to give up a chance for being messy, took a Penal Code and began to use it as a guide, trying to perform every single minor crime in a night. The resulting chaos was such that the Princess had to rush to our City. The outrage, fanned in particular by Lyrist Alois Didereaux, would end with the honorable Rashid al-Rashid becoming Interim Legate, so the Stonefolk would reined by the much more reliable Scholar.

Showing once more his slipperiness, however, Sol Auk would credit Colmes with the idea, calling it "the Colmes Doctrine". The Sergeant would claim it had all been a test to prove the criminal tendencies of the Wellfolk... Though, according to Deputy Chief Scribe, Aaisha al-Samar, this was a reframing that came after the fact. Sol Auk's many scandals showed, if nothing else, what can happen when the institutions of the Well fail to enforce their duties.

It would, alas, not be the last time criminals evaded Justice.

Distant Heroics and Local Villanies

As ever, external threats to the Well were not kind enough to take a break while we dealt with the villanous in our midsts, or the vagaries of our politics. While Sol Auk endeavoured to weaken our institutions, it was often independent caravaneers and members of the Accord who had to stand and defend the Well against more dangerous foes.

Once, for instance, your humble Author, then a Student of the Balladeers, went alongside a few caravaneers and Nadiris to investigate the dissapearance of some travellers in the Long Road. Soon we discovered a tribe of hobgoblins had kidnapped them. As we fought and defeated their hordes, however, we were horrified to discover that both the kidnapping and our battle were part of a horrid plan. See, dear reader, a djinni had been imprisoned in the oasis where we fought, and the blood of innocent and hobgoblin alike weakened its shackles. Thankfully, a brave ritual directed by then-Nadiri Cosine Mevura saw the waters purified and the monster entrapped for centuries to come.

In another joyful ocasion, the exceedingly attractive imbecile, Velan Volandis, was tasked with finding a mystical stone. The adventure took him, the Torchbearers, Aubrey Domergue, and Professor Attar on a magical adventure which involved flying carpets, giant women, kidnap-intending harpies, and carrying a huge stone on one's back. Sadly, the Torchbearer Naelin refuses to elaborate on the most fantastic details, claiming that "there's already enough literature on that fool", so the reader will have to fill the blanks with whatever lurid tales the Velan Volandis stories may inspire (your Author wholeheartedly recommends "Velan Volandis and the Serpent's Boudoir").

Other ventures were less joyful. On the 1st of Tammuz, a large contingent heeded the call of a local captain to explore the mysterious island of Lucca Ferra. Dozens of caravaneers and members of the Accord sailed forth through the Sea of Pearls. They would find a cursed island, haunted by the undead remnants of every sailor and pirate who had found their end in its treacherous waters... Or even more dangerous shores. The dared cannon fire, exploding monkeys, foul magics and a veritable skeletal army. In the end, as they laid low the captain of such horde, they discovered some ancient Horrors, sealed beneath the fortress. The last battle was the hardest, and many perished to hold back these ominous entities of the Depths. Your author, dear reader, lost a dear friend, the bardess, Student and member of the Competition, Sana Khealn. Many lost even more.

When they returned, the survivors seemed haunted... Both by the battle and by the last, and most cruel revelation. As they stepped back on the shores of the Great Ash Desert, an illusion fell and they discovered they had been used. It turned out that the captain who called them was none other than the fabled Trazant, an undead pirate herself... And through their battle, the caravaneers had helped her regain her control of the fabled island, where she remains to this day.

Not all villains, however, worked in distant lands. Within the Well, Vergal Medista and his apprentice Alexander Bestworth (most known as Owain's familiar) murdered a Nadiri in the Creep, the frosty explosions hurting dozens. The reasons behind this assassination were never clear. Some say the Nadiri was a Pra'raji. Others claim she learned something hideous about the Apothar, whose efforts seemed focused in the intimidation of local archaeologists. Rennik Colmes, recently returned to the Well, claims that the matter was investigated. One wonders what led the then Sergeant to take no action, and whether there was something nefarious or some bribery involved... Regardless, the fact that the crime was never publically addressed caused plenty of dissatisfaction.

In particular, the murder inspired a strange and terrible fervor in a local Twindari monk, Sahlil Shadowbrook. In dark places, the hin swore to bring the justice of the Martyrs to those who evaded the Law. Thus, she began a campaign of harrassment that would see her attacking Alexander in the very Tower, then exiled, captured, crucified and left to die in the middle of an Ashstorm. She escaped, somehow. Days passed. Alexander Bestworth was expelled and later possibly murdered (though not by Sahlil, with some pointing at Vergal himself). Then, on the morning of Maribeth 13th, when the Apothar left the Well for some contractwork... A marred and scarred figured captured and kidnapped him. His body was found in the First Wheeel, under the ancient sigil of the Wroth. He had been found wanting.

Vergal Medista's death went largely unmourned, in itself quite a sad thing. Apothar Estellise Azimi quite literally cackled on the Bellows when learning the news, and others took his duties. According to the Nadiri Lucian Naile, the deceased was "headstrong and selfish", which of course "rubbed people the wrong way". The main consequence, perhaps, was that Cosine Mevura, feeling Gers Geiger's celebration of his colleague's murder was the last drop after the Alchemist's kept on leaving monsters within, closed the Tower's laboratories to external users... Which would create no small amount of tension over the following months, and possibly culminate in the murder of Geiger. Sahlil Shadowbrook in turn, would continue evading the Jannisaries for weeks, until accepting a duel against the Ballestriere Kragg Stonefury and Rennik Colmes on the 28th of Maribeth.

It still took them some effort. Whatever may be said about Shadowbrook, she did not go down easy...

The Brookery of Alfred Delafosse

In comparison to other great acts and daring villanies, Alfred Delafosse's tale is one of cowardice. A Student of the Balladeers and cook, he was haunted by a dark past and the ghosts of the Old City. In his fearfulness, he would precipitate events much greater than himself which still echo in our days.

Afraid the ghosts that pursued him, Delafosse made a deal with a brooker. He saw himself relieved of spirits but, in a classic and entirely unsurprising twist, became instead pursued by djinni of the Court of Flesh and Earth. When it dawned upon him what he has done, the then Student sought the help of an Acolyte of the Sybilline Sisterhood, Amélie Terrois. The Kulamende, valiantly, tried to aid... Only to discover that Delafosse, to save himself, gave the djinni her name.

The news, when they emerged, was ill received. Your humble Author, a recently graduated Balladeer, took Delafosse's cloak and sent him to the Garrison, so that his crimes could be investigated... Though not before Delafosse attacked Apothar Mevura, in a fit of paranoia. The issue did much to inflame tensions between the College and the Tower, specially when the Balladeers sought to meet to discuss the matter and Estellise Azimi, never one to be told no, insisted on going downstairs with them. Her steady refusal would only end with Lynneth punching her and carrying her unconscious body outside. Thankfully, the tiny Apothar had a soft spot for strong women (the reader may refer to the Annex for her position in the "Lynneth Saphic Relationship Chart") and would forgive her.

As for Delafosse, he managed to avoid the lions, joining first the Oathseekers of Isabella de Veend, and later the crew of the Gutter Pirates. For some reason, he would die much later considering his actions justified. The cowardly can, your dear Author suposes, delude themselves from time to time. But History is nothing without contrast, and so it is that the cowardice of Alfred would be opposed by the exemplary bravery of Amelie Terrois.

Know that, as djinn haunted her, trying to break her spirit, Amelie chose to carry this burden upon her back alone. She abandoned the robes of the Sybilline and our city, so that the shadow that sought her would prey on none other. Imagine her, oh, reader. Tall, spear in her hand, rough robes arround her lithe frame, a lioness by her side. Imagine her expression, stern and decided. A heart brimming with the fires of actual heroism, which neither time nor suffering would ever manage to quell.

Imagine her as she leaves through the Gate of Roses and we leave, with her, this second Act of our recent History... And throw ourselves into the wilderness of Act III.



[Act II has been written with the generous aid of Torchbearers Naelin Karstwen and Sephidra Niridhe, Nadiri Lucien Naile, Deputy Chief Scribe Aaisha al-Sammar, Acolyte Narwen Alendiel, Sisters Hypatia and Ameliè, Hazezon Mraize and, through correspondence, Lieutenant Rennik Colmes (denial being, of course, a form of colaboration).

The Author lamments that Apothar Cosine Mevura rejected a personal invitation to converse and wholeheartedly hopes he shall embrace the spirit of historiography and objectivity for Act III. Other witnesses of the period are invited to seek the Author, in person or letter, and reminded that the only way of shaping the historical record is participating in its creation.

A small ammendment has been provided with further context as to the closing of the Tower's lab, by courtesy of Nadiri Zain.]

[Don Nadie]

The Maribeth Primaries and the Crucible of the Djinni Prince

On the 23rd of Maribeth, the Sublime Garden announced that new Elections would take place. Without any clear frontrunner, numerous individuals launched themselves into what would come to be, in the words of Deputy Chief Scribe Aaisha al-Sammar, "the most chaotic of Elections".

The Primaries were exceedingly varied. For the Gold, the likes of Kythaella Reithel, of the Banda Rossa, Lojir Trajaros, of the Tower, and Mari Blacke, of the Sabotage. For the purple, Toleigh of the Banda Rossa ran alongside Cosine Mevura, of the Tower, Marcellus Saenus and the once-White Isabella de Veend. For the White, the Balladeers fielded Pirouette Manners and Lynneth Llywarch. They were joined shortly afterwards by Mae Stern, whose Voice your humble Author bought, so that she too could run in the League of White. Sadly, few of these names would reach the elections... Some lost to tragedy, some to intrigue, some to cowardice. Chaotic, indeed.

With only a few days of signature-gathering left, a large contingent met with Ameliè Terrois at the Gate of Roses and left towards Qadira, from whence they'd sail to the isle of Huffaidh. The group included not only your humble Author, but all of the aforementioned candidates save Blacke, Toleigh, Saenus, and Stern. With us, we brought a strange container: the Crucible. It had been designed by the Nadiri Lojir Trajaros as part of his thesis, and constructed the night before (despite the interference of some djinni) by the Alchemists's Guild. Its purpose? To imprison the djinni Prince that had taken to haunting the Kulamende.

The valiant band was accosted by djinni as they made their way through the jungles of Huffaidh. Horrid monstrosities of flesh emerged from the very cliffs to stop them, while a tide of bile rose higher and higher, lapping at their feet as they climbed to the top of the volcano. At the caldera, they set up the Crucible and Amélie called out the djinni Prince, whose form was weakened enough to be then imprisoned in the Crucible itself. However, in the last moments, the foul creature managed to pull the Acolyte with it into the prison.

It is sometimes said that heroism is about choosing what's right, rather than what's easy. If so, few could claim greater heroism than our band. For, unhesitant, most jumped behind Amélie without a moment's hesitation, unwilling to let the Prince have even such a partial victory. With Mevura and De Veend guarding our bodily forms, we delved deep into the Crucible of Lojir Trajanos.

Your Author, dear reader, will admit here once more to the limitations of his art. Words are things of subtle wind, a gossamer net of entwined meaning. They, however, fall short to describe as alien a place as we found ourselves wandering. It was a labyrinth, seemingly infinite and twisting onto itself, its walls overgrown with living, pulsating flesh. Within, strange things: prophecies and mysteries scribbled by maddened hand, ancient books that had not yet been written. We even met a madman (a true scholar driven here by bargain? a djinni illusion?) whose offer of knowledge we, thankfully, declined.

Horrors, one and all.

In circles we wandered through such flesh-wrought tunnels, accosted by endless barrages of djinni who lit the very air on fire. To these foul flames the Well lost two candidates and two heroes: Pirouette Manners and Lojir Trajanos - their bodies melding with the horrid prison. Without time to mourn, we pushed through until we met and faced once more the djinni Prince. A strange beast of malignant grace, cat-like, tentacled and foul, it grinned with self-satisfaction, thinking us caught in its trap. The Crucible's wards kept us from harming it, and kept it from harming us. Imprisoned here forever, it thought, we would eventually succumb.

Heroes, however, find ways. With great magical prowess, Estellise Azimi and Amélie Terrois combined their spellweaving and weakened the wards, allowing us to fight the djinni Prince and its hosts. It was an arduous battle but, in victory, the pull of the Prince was sufficiently weakened that we could, at long last, escape the Crucible... Leaving the Prince trapped therein with the two of our band it had managed to best.

We returned to the living world, mournful, carrying the weight of our losses. None puts best our feelings than the Well's best poet, Sister Amélie: "they had come with me to do something that is done once in a hundred years", and succeeded. We "had shared the company of heroes".

I think most of those who sailed were not, at the time, much consoled by having freed the Disc of a djinn Prince of grand and foul power. At least, dear reader, your Author wasn't. We had been shaken, marked, our minds scarred by all we had seen... And there were fears we could've been tainted even further. Precautions were of course taken before our return to the Well: strange books of flesh that had come with us from that prison were burnt in a pile, and our bodies examined by the Astronomers for djinni marks that would indicate brooking. We were careful.

At least most of us were. For, in the Caravan Camp, the by then rarely seen Velan Volandis left without a word.

The Death of Velan Volandis

On our mournful return, many of those who left found themselves, for their heroism, on the wrong side of the law. Partly out of concern for candidates bringing their lists of signatures to fight a Djinni Prince, Rennick Colmes declared an Inquisition. According to the Bellows of Cosine Mevura, he threatened with Treason charges any candidates who, having traveled to Huffaidh, refused to remove themselves... An act the Apothar called "disappointingly n-naked corruption" in the Bellows.

Never one to refuse even a whiff of naked corruption, Sol Auk supported the move. In a series of meetings, the Sergeant and Legate made Lynneth step down and promise none else of the Rose would run for the League of White. This deal was not made public, which meant that when your humble Author woke up, all he knew was that his beloved League had been left without candidates. You see, dear reader, a few days earlier Mae Stern had been given a simple choice: continue as a candidate or become an Apothar. She had cowardly stepped down... Probably for the best, upon reflection.

Finding our League bereft of candidates, your dear Author (admittedly, not always one for careful pondering) began gathering signatures for his own candidacy. Unbeknown to him, of course, this broke the deal between Lynneth and the Pyramid. Thus, by the evening, all the candidates of the Rose in all Leagues (Kythaella, Toleigh, and yours truly) were called to the Chamber of Assembly by Sol Auk, Colmes, and Rashid al'Rashid. A compromise was called: the Rose would field but one candidate of the three. This was likely the last opportunity the Rose would have to see one of their numbers become Legate for, as emerged during the meeting, our darling Sovereign wished to forbid the Accorded from running. In the end, the Ballestriere became the Rose's candidate... Not so much out of realistic chances to win the Primaries as because she was, simply, too proud to quit. One supposes they didn't call her "the Lion" for naught.

With this agreement in mind, the League of White ended up with what would be the least successful, most widely disliked candidate in the history of Ephian politics: Estellise Azimi. She was so thoroughly hated, even by other League members that on the 30th of Hziran, with but an hour left in the Primaries, the Marquis de Savaray offered a prize to whomever would sign up and gain more than her five gathered signatures. And, never one to refuse challenges, with but five minutes to go, Velan Volandis stepped in.

The hero's motivations were, one must admit, muddled. In the past months, Velan had emerged from the College rarely, oft to engage in almost suicidal outings, such as Huffaidh. This was one such occasion: breaking the table Azimi had set as a barricade before the doors of the League Offices, he officially signed as a candidate and immediately fled to the Krak. 

It was there that Rennik Colmes would speak with him, alone. "He asked", the Lieutenant says, "if I would rather take him to trial over something more serious", and showed him the book many of us had received in Huffaidh, and burnt. According to Colmes, Velan claimed to have given his name to the djinn so that our band would be able to escape the Crucible, and found himself unable to destroy the tome. When asked about his motivation to confess, Velan reportedly told Colmes that the djinn wouldn't allow him to take his own life, and that he didn't want to make his brethren in the Rose do what needed to be done. Thus, the trial was held, and Velan Volandis sent to the lions.

"It was", says Colmes, "possibly the most heroic act I've seen of him".

Your author sees, in truth, no reason to doubt the sincerity of his impression. However, dear reader, your Author must also confess his uncertainty: this History can only be objective and truthful inasmuch as one recognizes where neither record, witnesses nor deduction are enough to make things clear. Balladeers, one fears, are oft torn between ideals and reality. Thus, their ends are either heroic deaths... Or a slow sinking into melancholic gloom, with ever-longer absences, as they descend, deeper and deeper, into their cups. Your beloved Author feels as though Velan was slowly meeting the second of these fates and sought, desperately, the first.

Clearly, he wanted to sacrifice himself, and perhaps he did brook. It is less clear whether he did allow us to escape, or if he was just reframing the events as was often his style. Perhaps whether he saved us or not through brooking is immaterial. Perhaps it is enough that he believed he did... Even if his heroism was, in the end, but an elaborate form of suicide.

The Elections of Maribeth IY 7787

With the death of Velan Volandis, the Primaries followed their course and three candidates emerged.

For the White, Estellise Azimi. Her presence was not so much a choice as a defeat: none else had been able to take over her and, between death, blackmail and cowardice, the League was pretty much empty of candidates. A maneuver was attempted to unseat her, but with little success. Azimi would lead a historically terrible campaign which included getting drunk during a debate and screaming, loudly, at her own supporters. She would end up getting no votes, not even her own... A disaster so enormous some thought it was deliberate. Perhaps the only interesting development for the White League, in this tragic election, was the appearance on the political stage of a handsome firebrand by the name of Domhnall Guivarch... A man who made himself known by his passion and fearlessness, as he carelessly argued against everyone, from candidate to Lyrist, who seemed to be failing our League. 

In the League of Gold, Kythaella's bluster was defeated by the much more subtle Priestess of the Sabotage. Mari Blacke. The Ballestriere didn't take such news kindly and, right after Velan Volandis's execution, proceeded to beat and kidnap the candidate, taking her to the Banda Rossan Fortress. Nobody knows what transpired in there, exactly. But whether through the mediation of Kragg Stonefury, her own guile, or a stroke of sensibility in the Lion, Mari Blacke emerged bloodied but alive. Until her death, the Priestess would never speak openly against the Rossans, but attentive onlookers would notice that, whenever speaking with them, a hand remained behind her back... Glowing, faintly, with the most deadly miracles of her Spoke.

With Azimi sinking the White League, Mari Blacke was left to run against the candidate of the Purple: Zaniah Almirah. The Gamemistress had jumped into the Primaries much later than her competitors, in fact right after yours truly and Toleigh were forced to remove their candidacy. Having endless reserves of charm and the gratitude of most in the Well, however, she had no  trouble winning over De Veend, especially after Marcellus Saenus retired to focus on his library.

Through the following days, Blacke and Almirah would negotiate eagerly with every faction and every Voiced... But, in the end, there was little contest. The Tower despised the Priestess, with Apothar Estellise Azimi breaking the altar in her temple during a raid, The Rossa was obviously against her, while the College of Balladeers had little interest in supporting a close ally of Sol Auk. Lyrist Alois declared as much to a wide public and, when De Veend agreed to a Voiceless Subsidy in exchange of White League votes, the matter was truly settled: with 9 more votes than her competitors, Zaniah Almarivah was anointed Legate on the 6th of Tabbah.

Civilian Society and Uncivic Behaviours

As ever, it behooves the Historian to take a moment to look beyond the loud declarations and grand events, and focus onto the smaller details that, quietly, shape our present as forcefully as any War. For as djinn Princes were imprisoned and elections fought, our City kept growing... And nothing showed this development more than the steady arrival of Ashfolk from the metropolis of Baz'eel.

It was during this period that such notables as Qari Alriyh, Aaisha al-Samar, Daoud al-Maaz or the wise Nasreen Shabanni arrived into our city from Baz'eel. While they would become respectable, beloved, or simply well-known Ephians, their presence was most significant for what it heralded: the blooming of our civilian society. Our city, of course, provided an interesting mix of peaceful endeavors and violence. Sadly, when asked about what they recall most strongly as their first impressions, both doña Nasreen and Qari remember rather dreadful events.

Qari remains struck by the memory of Gers Geigers, Guildmaster of the Alchemists, who apparently defended his secretary, Bernadette, despite her being a secret Bahaurist. This emerged in the course of some investigation by the Fourth, though she somehow came unscathed, leaving the Guild and joining, perhaps for protection, the Banda Rossa. According to the ex-Legate, this was precisely one of leading causes of behind the "Illegal Worship" law: while the Mark of Baharu had been found on her, the lack of necromantic materials on her person meant, according to him, that she escaped prosecution with but a fine.

What doña Nasreen recalls is, perhaps, even worse: "The Brookers", she says. "It was a constant parade of trials for such". Indeed, the Legateship of Zaniah saw a large number of brooking cases, perhaps due to the shining of an ominous Red Star. Fritz, a young member of the oldest profession, managed to escape initial charges in a trial presided by Legate Zaniah with a freshly recruited Scribe at her side, Bashir Khatara. The young Fritz of course took this chance to change his ways and - just kidding, dear reader: shortly after, he descended upon the Legate and doña Nasreen with an army of summoned djinni, which the two women barely escaped. This time, Fritz was killed.

Though the young man was perhaps the most notable, he was by no means the only brooker that found a foul fate during the months of Maribeth and Tabbah. There was the cook Marl Marlson, who attempted to defeat Mro Pro in the arena of Flavor and, unable to win through mundane means, sought unholy scullions in the Court of Flesh and Earth. Another notable case was Isabella de Veend who, in an act of spite, gave the name of her rival Naelin to a djinni and, instead of facing charges for brooking, exiled herself to Frostport. When a Jannisary was sent to capture her she, tragically, threw herself into the frozen sea.

The most notable crime of this period, however, was also much more mundane. On Tabbah 8th, the Secretary of the League of White, Ordrem Klard, died at the hands of Hrothgar Childkiller, of the Glazier's Guild. The crime was rather clear but, during the trial, the State's witness changed their tune altogether. Eventually, Childkiller was acquitted by the presiding Legate, Sol Auk. According to doña Nasreen, he "diminished the charges due to a misunderstanding of culture". There's little doubt Soul Auk grew a bit richer that day... Though rumor claims that this murder (or perhaps, its being unpunished) was related to a mysterious book which had been bought in Qadira and found its way, somehow, to the hands of the Glaziers.

Not all, however, were crime and violence. In no small measure, the continued presence of many Ashfolk notables responds to what doña Nasreen thought most charming about the Well: its people. In our variety and resilience, in our inventiveness, there was a constant outburst of creativity and passion. Both Qari and doña Nasreen, for example, are quick to point out to the Crows. Led by Captain Karim yn Tarek, this was a band of mercenaries which were hired to keep order in the Creep by Sol Auk, in no small measure to facilitate the Legate's semi-legal endeavors, such as a terribly unsuccessful brothel. Despite their unseemly work, the Crows were able to navigate the intricacies of the Well with notable grace, and climb up into more respectable positions over the following months.

Other civilian institutions made strides of their own. The Torchbearers kept on mapping the unknown desert, while the Competition dug eagerly despite the looming, vague threats of some Apothars. And even with the questionable behavior of its Guildmaster, the Alchemists's Guild continued to innovate and served as a hub for new tinkerers and craftsmen that were taking their first steps. We were becoming more than an outpost, full of caravaneers, refugees and adventurers, and growing into a State of our own. Often, of course, with great pains.

Perhaps the most notable of these pains was the passing of the Law forbidding Accorded Legates. Though an Astronomer had been Legate in the past decade, the Sultan had manifested his preference for Legates to be chosen from within civilian society, and this preference had informed many of the maneuvers against Lynneth's candidacy. Finally, on the Assembly of Tabbah 17th, Legate Zaniah codified the prohibition of the Accorded running for Elections.

At the time, many opposed such a change, your Author himself most loudly. Now, however, having seen the development of our institutions, he must admit that the change was for the best. The Accorded have power, and without restrictions to it, power tends to accumulate more power. A vicious cycle, this can end up relegating civilians to the fringe of the Well's governance. Thus, by restricting the core of the government to civilians, our democracy is provided with some space to grow.

While the question of how to best balance the interests of the Accord and those of Ephia as a whole remains, this turned out to be a step in the right direction... Proving that even Authors (or perhaps, specially Authors) can be wrong.

The Tonsure's Caravan

Of the many adventures and schisms and scandals of this period, however, the most important would start as a glimpse. First, a group of the Cinquefoil guided by Lyneth Llywarch ventured to the Rampart Nusrum and saw coming, from the distant south, a caravan of refugees. This information would become public days later, on the 10th of Tabbah, when she announced it to the public. Soon, other forces would send their own scouting missions, and report similar sights.

Immediately, the Caravan became a huge source of controversy... And none raised objections more publically than Legate Sol Auk. Ever a man of greed, he claimed that the Well lacked in infrastructure to provide for the refugees, and insisted instead that we sell them to nearby Kha'esh. Thankfully, the People of the Well were generally of the opinion that we had a duty to welcome refugees, none more so than the League of White, the Balladeers of the Lost Hearth and the Sisterhood of the Sibylline Wine, all of which tried to prepare for their arrival. Thus, for instance, Balladeer Lynneth, Acolytes Hypatia and Ianthe, and your humble Author led a secret mission which saw us seizing a shipment of grain from the Hundred Princes. These resources would see the refugees fed over the early months, and help quell some of the concerns raised.

Even with grain, however, there were many still concerned. Thus, on the 17th, right after the Assembly where the Accorded were banned from running for Legate, the Princess's Ashsail was borrowed by a small group of Accorded officers and the Torchbearers. High above they sailed, to the south past the Ramparts, where their trip was interrupted by a trap, a net held by the peaks of a ridge.

Their ambushers appeared, at first glance, to be three lizardfolk riding flying raptors... But when one took off his helmet, he was revealed as none other than Constantine Diakos. In the brief conversation that followed he revealed himself as a General of the 'Emperor' of a renascent Sibilant Empire. Battle soon followed, with the adventurers managing to cut themselves free and sail forth...

Somewhat shaken, the group sailed forth to the Caravan itself, where they were led to their leader: an ashen-skinned figure. It was taller than even the Stonefolk, covered in scars and with its face hidden under a mask. If you have ever delved into archaeology and history, dear reader, you may recognize these as signs of the Latent, ancient servants of the Colossi who rarely interact with the younger races, much less lead them. Known as "the Tonsure", this being presented an unexpected mystery... And, to make matters even more fascinating, it carried a bejeweled beaker of gold and studded gemstones.

Many strange things emerged in the conversation that followed. For a start, it became clear that the Sibilant Army was set upon the Caravan, desiring both the slaves they might gain and the strange beaker that they carried. The treasure had been found by a young boy who stood by the Tonsure's side, but whose name was never known. The Tonsure claimed, in the booming voice of the Ages, that the caravan was coming to the land of Ibtihal, whom it called "Pilgrim", "Queen" and other grandiose titles. Furthermore, showing the vessel, it said it was a gift for the late Orentid monarch, uttering the famous phrase:

"DAKHWAR FOR HER"

If, upon recognizing such fateful name, you find yourself shaken, oh reader, you aren't the only one. The return of the Caravan and their report led to a flurry of activity. Devouts filled the temples and priestly chants, the Bellows, while street-preachers seemed to fill every corner. This "Dakhwar" became an inextricable part of the ensuing political discussion: another argument in favor of intervention for the Rose, an object desired for examination by the Tower and something the Jannisaries - some say under orders of the Consulate - were adamant about never allowing within the Well.

Of course, proper scholars (by which your Author means himself, but also his most promising apprentice at the time, Sparrow) were immediately able to realize that this beaker couldn't be the promised Dakhwar, which historical Colossi sources always represent as a humble wooden Cup. Your Author dedicated no small effort to inform all the Accorded of the historical roots of the present conflict and his finds, mostly to express the importance of stopping the Sibilant and avoid unnecessary strife over this magical treasure. This didn't prevent a lot of conflict over the possible destiny of such an object, with Legate Sol Auk accepting bribes to promise it to different factions... While Legate Zaniah, some say after a few conversations alone with Lynneth under the glimmering stars (readers may refer to the Lynneth Llywarch Sapphic Relationship Chart), seemed to promise it to the Rose, much to the chagrin of some members of the Purple.

On those days, the urgent question became what to do about this Caravan. Ought we to let the refugees (and their Cup) be taken by the Sibilant Host of Diakos? Did we have a duty to save them? Shouldn't we oppose our enemies, the Sibilant? Were these refugees, as Lieutenant Colmes said, "loyal to the old Orentid regime"? And what about this "Cup"? Should we allow it to fall upon Sibilant hands, or did we need to gain it for ourselves? You may imagine, oh reader, the meetings behind closed doors, the crisis in the Pyramid, the passionate discussions in cofee houses and mizzar parlors...

And in the midst of all this frenzy, on the 20th of Tabbah, Legate Sol Auk declared the Labor of Government fulfilled. With full chests of dinari he had pocketed from bribes, the Bellow-tithes and other taxes, he left for Qadira... Triggering new elections in the midst of a crisis.

Say what you will about him: his sense of opportunity was unmatched. We were too busy to pursue him.




[Act III has been written with the generous aid of Torchbearers Naelin Karstwen and Sephidra Niridhe, Deputy Chief Scribe Aaisha al-Sammar, Acolyte Narwen Alendiel, Sister Ameliè, Hazezon Mraize, Qari Alriyh, Nasreen Shabani, Bashir Khatara and Marcellus Saenus. Special thanks to Lieutenant Rennik Colmes for providing a most interesting perspective on the death of Velan Volandis. While your Author doesn't entirely believe the elven hero's words wholeheartedly, this History would lack in Truthfulness without his perspective.

Mae Stern was reached for comment regarding the decision to quit her candidacy, but refused to respond.

As ever, the Author invites those who feel this Act lacks in accuracy to reach out to him, so that he their perspective may add to this History's Truthfulness.]